Wicker
by Novalia1001
Summary: A collection of one-shots. First chapter: Train and Eve are left at the base with no electricity during the thunderstorm. With nothing else to do Train tries to get Eve to act her age.
1. Burnt Candle Wick

**Author's Note**: I came up with three scenarios that were not linked in anyway and they were all one shots contained Eve, Train and splashes of Sven to add to the fluff. I didn't know if I should have put it separately, but I've read fandoms before when they just composed a whole heap of one shots into one document. So I said to my computer monitor, "You know, who cares if I'm a copycat? At least my stuff's good, right? Right…? Why won't you respond?"

Computer Monitor: …

Novalia: I don't know you anymore!

Computer Monitor: This crazy person who speaks to inanimate objects on a regular basis as a genetic default from her mother's side has allowed me to, on her behalf, declare to the world that she has never, and will never, own the…what did you call it? "Hotness" of Kuro-sama and all of his followers? …well, that can't be right… *reads handwriting again*

First Oneshot: Wicker.

The clouds threatened to open up above him and force him to drink something other than milk, but even the thunderous crackling behind the dark, ominous signs of bravado would not convince Train to retreat inside. He turned a deaf ear to his six years senior partner who gave up yelling at him, and he opened his golden eyes when he noticed Sven had stopped barking. Had he gone mute?

He closed his eyes and gulped down more of his cool, white treat, shifting his weight between _Hades _strapped on his thigh and his own weight on his back. _Sven should lose his voice more often, _Train thought evilly, smiling to himself. He jumped out of his skin when something small and cold went 'splat' on his bare hand. He sat up immediately, glancing around him and his free hand itching to snatch up his revolver's holster in the lighting quick reflexes he was trained in, before he glanced down at his hand were an innocent droplet of water stared back at him. Childishly, he looked up and thunder boomed, releasing the heavy shower.

Eve was seated in the kitchen when she heard a yowl and wondered if another cat was on the roof. Train swung inside hurriedly and bolted the window he had appeared through, hands trembling from the shock of cold rain. His dark brown hair was dripping and his clothes drenched despite having spent less than half a minute outside.

"Sven warned you," Eve said quietly from her position by the counter, an open book in front of her. "You should have listened."

"Don't rub it in, Princess," Train said irritably, purposely shaking off the excess water when he walked past her. She snatched up her book instantly and glared at the back of the grinning Train. He reappeared not too long after in dry long sleeved clothes and a towel over his head. When he passed Eve for the third time, he disturbed her from her reading session.

"Princess, where's Sven?"

The book snapped shut in her hands and Train winced. "If you had been _listening," _she seethed and Train stuck out his tongue in response. "you would have heard him when he said that he was going out to fish for some information, money and cigarettes."

"Are those his exact words?" Train asked curiously as he draped the white towel on his shoulders.

"Somewhat," she responded impassively and returned to her book.

Train was about to tease her further before a sudden peal of lightening flashed dangerously close and lit up the room in a startling flash. Eve fell from her stool from the shock and Train only lost his ground when the thunder kicked in immediately after: such a loud explosion of sounds that he was suddenly sure that the house was falling apart.

Their ears were still ringing minutes after the monotony of the rain followed as though nothing happened.

"Princess, you okay?" Train asked carefully, slowly opening his eyes. His slow recovery irritated him, though his eyes were bound to be more affected because of his above average eyesight.

"I'm fine," came a frazzled response, annoyed at the thought that Train thought she needed protection from something as simple as a thunderstorm.

"That was odd," Train sighed, blinking several times as his eyes adjusted to the room light. It was only then when he realized that the lights Eve had been using to read were off. He stood, experimentally switching the lights on and off, and did the same in several rooms.

"It's no use, Train," Eve finally told him before he considered checking the fuse box. "The electricity is gone. We might as well wait it out."

He huffed out a sigh and walked across to the kitchen. Eve's eyes trailed him slowly, squinting slightly, and he assumed that the room was darker to her than it was to him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting the candles," he responded. "Despite being nicknamed 'Black Cat', honestly I hate the dark."

At this he lit a match at the white undecorated candle accepted the tiny flame that lengthened and wavered as the candle brightened the room in a soft orange glow. Train's irises reflected the light just like a real cat's, and they seemed to have this sort of internal glow to them. Eve turned her attention from him to the flame itself. It wore a halo of colours around it, and found herself unable to look away.

"Train," she called his attention as he disposed of the used match. "The candle has a rainbow."

He frowned, but looked. So it did: a circle of colours breathing with the flame that seemed to be of life, and sparkled with warmth.

"I've never noticed that before," he muttered, his voice easily carrying across the silent room. "Usually I'm just content with the light on; I didn't really care what it looks like."

"We take a lot of things for granted, as humans," Eve muttered and rested her cheek on her palm, staring at the fire.

Train stared at her for a moment. She was smiling and her eyes caught the light from the flame in such a way that the pigment of her irises seemed muted, but lit up her features at the same time. For once, she looked like a kid, and not a thirteen to fourteen year old bearing the pains of an adult before her time.

He grinned. "Princess, check this out," he said in a suddenly loud voice.

She overall looked untroubled when he began to brace himself, but her eyes visibly widened when he passed his hand through the orange flame. "Didn't that hurt?" she asked at once, and Train grinned. Finally, Eve was acting her age!

"Nope," he responded bluntly. He did it again, and again, and Eve grew so skeptical that she attempted it and ended up burning her finger. She pulled it back into her mouth with a mutter of irritation more towards the fire than the man who taunted her to do it.

He chuckled. "You kept your hand too long over the fire, Princess," he explained. "Just pass your hand over it. Here," he picked up her unhurt hand by the wrist and intertwined their fingers, crossing their palms over the fire at the same time. He felt her flinch but he kept his hold on her hand and grinned. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Eve, awed by the warmth of the flame, took her turn to lead their hands over the fire. She did it quickly enough, though Train felt the heat linger on his skin. He still hadn't let go when she did it several times, and finally, the long awaited expression Train had been waiting for… she laughed.

She actually _laughed, _like a giddy child exhilarated by a spinning top. And her laugh bounced, sort of, and it forced a genuine smile on Train's face as well. Feeling warmth from more than just the fire before him he awkwardly let go of Eve's hand and turned away, rummaging the drawers for something.

Eve tilted her head to peek. "What are you doing now?"

He turned around, holding something small between his thumb and index finger.

"A matchbox?" Eve asked, unimpressed.

"Not just any matchbox," he shook it. "An _empty _matchbox."

Eve's cheek slumped into her palm as that look of apathy returned again. "Thrilling," she said sarcastically.

"Wait until you see this, then," he tore the outer section of the box along its creases and dropped one onto the flame. Instantly, the room dimmed.

"Train, what did you just-!"

She was cut short when he pointed to the candle. She stared. The blue underlines of the flames itself was flowing like a water pigmented green beneath the plastic card, exploring it carefully before eating away at its edges and flaming up suddenly, growing in radiance and heat as it blazed with new energy.

"What doesn't smother you, makes you stronger," Train said with a shrug. He tossed another smaller piece in and the pair watched as a less impacting result occurred.

"It looks like two flames now," Eve noticed, that childishness returning to her face. Sure enough, the two pieces of card in a formation 'X' attracted two flames on either side, and the entire thing turned black.

"What happens if you put the whole box?" Eve asked him suddenly.

Train started. She was staring at the fire but the question was undoubtedly directed at him, and for once he found his mind blank. "I'm not sure," he responded and looked at what remained of the tiny matchbox before tossing it into the fire.

They expected the flames to grow to two feet and crackle with glee with new food, or simmer down to nothing more than a spark and then explode into an array of colours. In reality, the fire died down and stayed down.

"That was anti-climatic," Train muttered as they were enveloped in darkness.

He heard Eve slump in her impassive position again. "What doesn't smother you, you eventually die from later," she muttered irritably.

"Don't worry, I'll just find the matches…" he turned around and stopped dead, suddenly noticing something. Although his eyes were sharp and recovered quickly enough from the light, it was clear to say that Train couldn't see a thing. The only light left that came from the room was from the embers on the candle, and those were dying fast.

He cursed under his breath.

"You can't find it?" Eve asked, alarmed. Obviously she assumed the same thing that he did: that he would have been able to see where he was going. They were _obviously _both _dead _wrong.

"I can't find my own feet," Train admitted, wiggling his toes to make sure that they were still there.

"I think there was a lighter in Sven's room," Eve said. "I'll go see if I can find it, since we're both equally blind anyway."

He heard her shrug off of her seat and panicked slightly. "Hey, Princess, it'd be best if you don't move…!"

In his attempt to cut in front of her to Sven's room he stumbled over her instead, and the curtain ripped as they topped to the floor too close to a nearby wall.

"Ouch," Eve muttered.

"Sven's not going to be happy about that curtain," Train said with a grin and tossed the torn fabric aside. They were lying down in a square of light and they both looked at the window that displayed the nightlife. The clouds spread out to allow the full moon to be seen as clear as day, and the stars, as dim as silver embers like those dying on the candle in the kitchen twinkled softly behind a curtain of water vapor and dust particles.

"Train, you're heavy," Eve suddenly said, her voice husky as she struggled beneath his weight.

"Huh? Oh," he eased up, kneeling over her and bracing himself on his elbows, and when he looked he noticed her face was flushed with colour. Her hair looked messy strewn out on the carpet, and her eyes shocked once they locked with his which, he assumed, looked blue tinted because of his angle relative to the pale silver light.

He chuckled. "What's the matter, Princess, you look shell shocked."

She fumed. "I was knocked down by a man twice my size," she retaliated. "Shouldn't I be?"

"Yeah," he agreed softly and idly played with a few strands of her hair. She watched him in confusion, and eventually lightly pushed him away. "Should we try to find Sven's lighter?" she asked.

Train looked around at the pitch black room.

"Why? We've already got all the light we need right here." He set himself on his back and put his hands behind his head, staring at the moonlight. Eve set up a similar position beside him, her hands folded across her waist. She felt a hand lightly tugging at her hair and he didn't push her away this time. Just like a cat, he was bond to get his way, but she felt he was going too far when he shifted closer and…

When Sven came home, the room was in darkness. "Eve?" he called, dropping his groceries and flipping on the switch to the main room. "Sorry I'm late." He glanced around, "everyone's gone to bed already?"

He walked through the kitchen curiously staring at a misused candle with black tainted wax running down its sides. "Train, what did you do to the…"

He froze when he saw the two on the floor, Eve being cradled by a dead sleeping Train, and she looked as though she were waking up from Sven's arrival.

Sven's voice vibrated through the whole city in one breath as he called out the only possible name he'd ever call out in such a manner.

"!"

**I liked it best when Sven found them. I always like those interrupting moments.**

**You did too? The review!**

**You like the cockatoo? Then review!**

**Think lemons are 'ew'? Then don't review.**

**But the lemon can. Whoo hoo!**


	2. Not According to Plan

**Author's Note: **Actually, the feeling was never right with this one, thus it took me a while to post it. But here it is now, and it's more kinky than the first. Who know: eventually I might even go father (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). Just joking: I don't have the heart. But I believe that yours aren't black, so don't turn mine blue and review!

Second One-Shot: Not According to Plan

This midnight cabaret was a bit less than a dance club. Neon signs' designs in illustrative intentions drew the crowds in, and camouflaged with them were the bounties—the walking nervous wrecks with transparent yen floating above their heads.

And the night clubs were the perfect rendezvous points for the drug lords and cartels to receive their beneficial end of a week's dirty work. The blood was washed off of their hands—of _course—_but who would argue with the rich pig on his ruby throne?

Heartnet wanted to take that chance, and lured his partners in with a tempting five thousand yen. He leaned against the stained glass railing overlooking the checkered multi-coloured dance floors, sweaty, youthful bodies in revealing clothes indulging in the nightlife, spirits served at a deliciously low price at the bar tucked away in a corner, and handsome faces dotted about searched for tonight's prey.

Glazed golden eyes looked distastefully at the evergreen tinted martini on the low ebony table that reflected his suit. Devilish, one might call it, having been assaulted by the Heartnet touch: red collar open and revealing a collarbone beneath tanned skin, almost exposing the Roman symbols on his left chest. His jacket was light and jet black, blending in perfectly with his trousers that, in turn, blended in perfectly with his polished and primed leather shoes.

And of course his chocolate hair was no different than the norm.

"Train, are you in position?" Sven's voice came in suddenly through the earpiece he wore, and he flinched.

"Yeah, I'm here," he responded in a short breath, scanning the floor. "I don't get why I had to wear this, though."

"You have to blend in with the crowd, Train," Walker's voice butted in.

He seethed. "And why are we teaming up with Rinslet anyway?"

"Because I paid for your lunch," she retorted slyly. Her voice seemed mildly metallic, as though it were echoing in a confined space.

Heartnet grit his teeth silently and subtly. Rinslet was after a cartel's ultimate treasure that she was convinced was somewhere within the underground labyrinth of this cabaret exclusive club. As a benefit of having the triad as her backup and safety, there were many targets with high prices on their heads loitering about in the club now, and if they had placed their aces and jacks right—or so said Sven—they could be gluttonous for a week without a penny in vain.

Train, visualizing the endless row of milk bottles, kept his eyes scouring the crowd, and sent another irritable and repulsive glance at the alcoholic that tempted his adult want.

"Evening, stranger," a cool, feminine voice directed to him purred.

Reluctantly, he glanced to his right, almost looking over his shoulder. The women at the club were gorgeous (though in all honesty he didn't give it much thought with food being his main priority) and this racy woman proved to be just that. Smooth skinned and revealing enough yet not enough, long legs almost seen to her milky thighs through the red slit of her long red skirt, and curly brunette hair bouncing about her shoulders, giving a sort of glow to her bright green eyes. Her crimson lipstick smiled and Train withheld a sigh of irritation. He had been lucky not to attract any women until then.

"You're lonely, aren't you? Standing there and talking to yourself," she continued, swoon.

Train looked away, eyes half closed. "No not really; the ghosts are good company."

She seemed hesitant at that point, caution flashing through her eyes. "Ghosts?" she repeated.

He smirked and felt the skeptical glance on his back. "Of course: they're easier to talk to than women." Smoothly, he grabbed his martini and headed towards the stairs leading to the lower platform. "Now if you would excuse me," he toyed, and on impeccable cue, took at sip of his drink.

Out of sight and halfway down the open, frosty glass steps, he made a sickening face and got rid of the half empty glass on the first silver platter that crossed him.

His position was optional just as long as he could keep a view on everyone—or at least that was how he interpreted Sven's phrasing of the words. Eve was somewhere in the crowd, forced into façade as he was.

Watching the dancing figures was somewhat monotonous and mesmerizing, and Train casually lay back and watched them. One in particular, was truly in beat with the electronic beat blaring through overhead speakers. Black platform boots, semi-transparent stockings stopping mid-thigh: a pleated plaid skirt too short to cover the smooth, pearly skin revealed between the hem and boot. A short jacket almost biker style was open and revealed a black shirt with a low "V" neck, around the flesh of her neck a familiar necklace.

Train blinked, taking in her outfit again. Her skirt was flashing with every spin and a long blonde braid seemed to be in unison with…wait, what? He blinked again, looking away from the addictive attire.

He cursed.

He was checking out _lil' Princess._

And from what glares he could see throughout the room, others had similar thoughts. Perhaps even more erotic and filthy than his own, which were idle, and natural.

Excuses set, he stepped onto the dance floor. Eve didn't notice him—or if she had, she didn't recognize him—until he slipped his hand inter hers and in one fluid motion twirled her, and lead her off of the platform.

She blinked thrice at him before it registered. "Train?"

"Sheash, lil' Princess, you don't recognize your own partner?"

She ignored his playful tone and frowned. "What are you doing?"

"What is who doing?" Sven's apprehensive voice broke in. Train slipped the earphone into his pocket and stole Eve's as well, making her start slightly at skin contact. He cornered her out of sight from the rest of the setting in the most secluding area he found, empty tables and chairs and dim lighting dividing them from everyone else.

Eve glared at him in question. "What are you planning?"

"Just listen to me for a minute," he muttered softly, forehead lightly pressing against hers: hot and sweaty. Her breathing was rougher from his own, and he couldn't help but think if you were dancing like _that _you ought to be breathless later.

His thoughts were shattered when she spoke, though in a low voice: "You aren't talking."

He chuckled, unintentionally breathing on her exposed neck, and she stifled a shiver. "There are others ways of listening to someone, Princess."

"Such as?" she questioned, head tilting and catching the party light to reflect in her eyes like thousands of tiny mirrors. He felt a hollow throbbing in the back of his chest.

"Such as reading emotions," he started and her eyes flashed with something unreadable that he could only compare to suspicion or wariness.

"Or reading movements," his hand was on her shoulder before he knew it but she remained unmoving, eyes trying to search for something right beyond her grasp. He could almost _taste _her breath; how thin the space between them was!

"Or…"

"I get the point," she blurted shallowly, and he inwardly flinched. Eve felt him start to inch away right before she gained height on her toes and their noses gently nudged. She heard him catch his breath and freeze, and she smiled. "I get the point…" she repeated, words grazing his lips ridiculously close.

His hand slowly went down her arm once the proximity was breached. Eve was willingly cornered against a wall, and human instinct enclosed her fingers into the fabric of his jacket. Her hair was unraveling as was her mind as she was introduced to a new hobby other than reading. Breaths ragged between breaths, each kiss seemed more desperate than the last and rougher.

Train's hands were teasing the hem of her clothes, and he didn't have to open his eyes to know she filled them out. An arm wrapped around her, waist to hip, feeling each curve of her breathing. _Christ _how could he have not noticed _this _before?

He involuntarily shook when her fingers lightly grazed the back of his neck, sending every internal impulse into a skittish frenzy. He could feel the smirk in their joined lips and he almost laughed himself. Not even the constant buzzing in his pockets would let him instantly react—let alone _concentrate _on anything but his princess in his arms.

_What are those two doing? _Sven's voice shrieked in his mind. Resorted to sniper duty _again, _it was his job to make sure that the plan was carried out. But all of that was lost when he lost contact with Train and Eve, who's positions were _vital._

What made it even worse was though they couldn't hear him, he could—all too clearly—hear _them._ And Train was in dangerously deep water from Volfeid's point of view. He sighed, having to resort to waiting it out, but he feared that that would harm Rinslet's position.

He tried to contact her. "Uh, Rins?"

He heard the unsteadiness in her voice. "Yes…Sven?"

"By any chance…you heard that, right?"

He heard a click: the sound of _something durable _breaking. "Yes. Train's hitting all the wrong targets today."

"This might be a drawback in the plan," he regained his voice. "You'll have to withdraw for now."

"_What?" _her voice reached him even without the earphones. "I've been waiting to rob this guy for _weeks! _There is _no _way I'm giving that up now!"

Sirens wailed in the background, and he could feel Rinslet's fear. Maintaining a straight face as best as possible, he said, "Are you going to withdraw _now_?"

"Unfortunately…" she moaned miserably. He could hear her plodding through the vents by now. "What about Train and Eve?"

Sven bristled. "I'd worry about _them _least of all."

Rinslet suppressed tears from running down her face. "Ah, my poor Eve! To think she'd loose her innocence to a man like…"

"Who said anything about _that?" _Sven retorted, appalled.

"Well, Sven, I doubt they're going to be platonic after _this,_" she muttered in a matter-of-fact voice.

"_Train!"_

Train looked up, breaking away from the kiss. "Did you say my name a while ago?" he asked in a confusion tone.

She smirked coyly. "You want me to?"

Train grinned.

"Sure."


	3. Dear Sister

Author's Note: I had the urge to read some of my stories recently. It's summer vacation, so I could do a lot of things, and though I have another story that I need to update before angry riots take to the streets, I couldn't help but type out another chapter to _Wicker _after reading one of my favourite shoujo mangas: _Sugar Family_. I'm not much of a romance-fanatic, but the humor was just too yummy to deny. Anyway, this idea I came up with after serious thought, and one could say that it's a sequel to _Consonance Conditioner_ which is one of my one shots. Thanks for reading and please review.

Third One-Shot: Dear, Sister.

Eve looked up again from her recently borrowed tome where the words _The Lost Faces _were in a bold tarnished white of the paperback cover. She had pulled her hair back into a braid to keep her locks from trapping the summer heat that was only magnified beneath the metal roof of the car. Thankfully to all riders present Sven's driving was at a speed enough to blow out most of the unbearable warmth.

The said driver was looking faintly worried. For the past three hours they had been travelling along an endless strip of road with dry grassland on either side of the locomotive and a cloudless sky bright blue overhead. He feared rain and he feared them becoming lost in the middle of nowhere. Yet the map pointed to the same direction each time he checked it.

"Maybe we should get a GPS," Train had commented earlier. "You know, one of those satellite things."

"If you have the money, be my guest," Sven snapped, "I hope you haven't forgotten how deep in debt we are as we speak."

Indeed, their goal to repay all of their loans was looking farther and farther away, and their most recent target, a five hundred thousand priced Rhonny Bridges who was charged for murder and kidnapping on an unbelievable scale, was as far away from them geographically as they felt their ability to relinquish their debts were metaphorically.

Eve suddenly looked up. "I remember this place," she said.

Sven deflated, watching her from the corner of his eyes worriedly. "We haven't been going around in circles, have we?"

"No," she shook her head and pointed. "That sign up ahead. I remember it from Tearju's hometown. Maybe we can stop by her place for a night."

Sven blew out a sigh with quick calculation. "Well, we've been driving for a day and a half straight, so I suppose we can risk a night." He took the turn. "Nothing much has changed, has it?" He glanced in the rear-view mirror and adjusted it, realizing that Train had fallen asleep. "I was wondering why it was so quiet," he remarked, and Eve looked over her shoulder, then back to her book.

They pulled up before the mansion not too long after, and found the retired professor sitting on her porch with a cookbook in her hands. She appeared just as academic as Eve was over her personal studies. She looked up and smiled. "Hello, Sven," she greeted and glanced over his shoulder at the car. "Are you the only one here?"

"No, uh," he smiled and looked back at the car with a chuckle. "Eve's waking up Train."

Easier said than done, Eve realized the task was. The humidity had knocked him out completely. She huffed, pulling her bangs behind her ears and glaring at Train, lying haphazardly on the backseat. He snored quietly.

"Train, if you don't wake up now, then I'll win our bet."

He shifted. Eve grinned. "Fine, then. I win."

Train's grin was beaming energy from his nap. He'd spent his time after a heavy lunch searching Tearju's home for a cool and high placed napping area before he encountered Eve in a sunny hallway. She purposefully stood in his way, and he paused. "Something up, Princess?"

"I've won my bet, so you have to face the penalty," she said simply.

His smile fell and he stared. "Bet? What bet?"

"You failed to wake up, so I won."

"That…I don't remember…" he froze, having caught a flash of her deathly and resolute glare. "What's the penalty anyway?"

"Regard me as your older sister for the rest of the day."

He placed his hands into his pockets with careful consideration. Thinking of Eve as older was a simple understatement these days. She grew up already, nineteen years old, a sweeper in her own right, an adult. A grown woman physically, matured in every aspect—she'd always been the older sister mentally, but Train had the height to playfully deny that. Now, he had a little less to deny.

He sighed, looking out the nearest window. "Does it have to be an _older_ sister?"

"Yes," she backfired. "I'd admit that I wanted a cuter younger brother"—here Train internally flinched and smiled uncomfortably—"but Sven doesn't seem eager to raise any biological children anytime soon."

Train chuckled. "Why? Did you ask him?"

"Yes, actually," she crossed her arms. "He didn't respond."

Train laughed. "Alright, I'll live up to my side of the bet." He smirked cattishly, "_Onee-chan._"

She nodded. "And don't forget that you can talk to me about anything, okay?"

They had started walking again. Still behaving immaturely he asked, "So, _nee-chan_, where do babies come from?"

Without so much as a flinch, she responded.

By morning, the kitchen was full of palpable smoke. Sven stepped out of the chaos with a dry throat, and Tearju was expertly handling the extinguisher. With tears in his eyes, apron stained, and a frying pan black from the soot of gutted eggs, Train had to grin. The depth and the biology of Eve's explanation yesterday had left him emotionally disturbed, hence his laugh wasn't as enthusiastic as it could have been, but it made no difference to the annoyed Sven.

"Why don't you cook occasionally?" Volfeid questioned.

Train shrugged, "You and Eve said you didn't like ramen as much as I did."

"It's unhealthy," Sven corrected, "to eat nothing but cup noodles and milk."

"C'mon, milk is healthy. Babies live off of it." A reminder of yesterday's anatomy came to mind and he shivered.

"I said 'too much', and we aren't _babies._"

Train leaned on a wall as he watched the black smog clear. "Eve wants a baby brother, did you know that?"

"Yeah, ever since you were shot by the Lucifer Bullet and shrank to an impish size she'd been going on about that." He dusted his apron and looked up as though he had noticed something. "Where is Eve, anyway?"

"Probably still sleeping. The heat would do that to you, you know."

"Best wake her up," Sven started to re-enter the kitchen. "We have to leave early after all."

Train turned on his heel. "A-okay, Sven-daddy."

Eve was sleeping, and rather peacefully as well. The thin glass curtains had filtered the morning sunlight just enough to illuminate her borrowed room without waking her, and the summer breeze was pleasantly warm. The boarded room was so tranquil that even Train as he entered felt like falling asleep himself. He recognized Eve beneath the covers and watched her a moment. It was weird to think that Lil' Princess had grown to be a woman, in just a little over six years, yet nineteen seemed like such a volatile age. At that moment he wished she had chosen him as the older sibling.

"Yo, sis," he called, and couldn't help himself from grinning.

Her eyes opened. "Train, what do you want?"

"I fell down the stairs," he lied casually.

Eve who was still rubbing her eyes displayed clear drowsiness and he kneeled beside her bed. "How unfortunate," she stated. "Is that all?"

"Well you said I could tell you anything, right?" Before she could comment he said, "I broke a tooth."

"Oh," she contorted her index finger into a thin handled small mirror, and instantly, with the large white dress slightly draping off of the gentle curve of her shoulder and her collected and responsible expression, she vaguely resembled a dentist: perhaps an alluring one at that. "Let me see."

He opened his mouth and she put a hand under her chin as she leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure it's broken? I don't see anything significant to that effect."

"Probably because it isn't."

She frowned but her reaction didn't open the distance between them. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on her mouth. He didn't stay for more than a few heartbeats, but during that thin duration she hadn't pulled away, hadn't pushed him back. When he finally did pull back, Eve had a strange expression. She was frowning, her eyes castigating and cruel, but her lips were upturned and bright.

"That's known as incest, you know," she stated.

Train grinned. "Who cares?"

Tearju looked at the slightly burnt egg in her plate and pulled back strands of golden hair. Sven was seated exhaustedly in a nearby chair, half asleep. "Where is Train and Eve already?"

"Maybe sleeping?" Tearju mused. "It is rather hot out."

And her guess wasn't too far from the truth.


	4. Checkmate

Author's Note: Dang, trying to write a western and writing a romance fic at the same time is giving me ideas to write a romance western. But I can't do that yet! This chapter I started working on as soon as I re-read comments from the second one-shot. Perhaps a bit too much for some so, I'm just saying be careful and read it slowly. This, I think, is something that you've got to savor.

One-Shot Four: Checkmate

Eve was reading again.

He didn't stop himself from sneaking a glance at her over the lip of his empty glass bottle. She was striking at eighteen: short hair bobbed above thin soft shoulders exposed to autumn cold—why wasn't she shivering? She was too strong for that, he thought. It was weird to think of lil' Princess like that, wasn't it?

Hell no.

He had every right to have his opinion, which was suffocating his self-control. It wasn't that her hair was richly pigmented and coincided with the light tone of her skin—endless smooth, milky—or that her eyes, always downturned into the endless parabola of words and grammar of several different languages, were beautifully proportioned with a maturing face round and young, or that her lips that were seldom in a grin were slightly puckered in concentration, full, red since she had just woken up…

She shifted and Train frantically averted his gaze. He smiled at the thought that he was acting so childish, so skittish over a _girl. _And he didn't even want to question that statement because it always began with the same thing.

She wasn't a girl.

How redundant! This was ridiculous. He was just going to sit on the window ledge forever? He was just going to smirk at her playfully when she tried to gain Sven's attention? He was just going to wish her good luck without doubt in his eyes when she was trying on a pristine fishtail wedding gown? He had to admit that he was often exclusive as the wary Black Cat had been in the past—old habits died hard seemed too true to be true—but even so…

When he looked at her again she was staring back at him. He couldn't help but flinch. She had leaned back her head on the pillow, her hair fanned about her so delicately, so heavenly save for the few strands caught by her open lips in an alluring fashion, her book on her lap, forgotten—the wind was turning its pages—and she lied there, on her back, staring at him, stoic. Requesting…?

_Your move._

He didn't hesitate to respond. He placed the bottle on the low table and approached her, smirking. Her eyes followed him, deep, ethereal, tempting and teasing him without it being a joke. He ran the back of his left hand across her cheek, pushing the few yellow threads to the rest of the pool cradling her head. She was a bit too soft beneath him. He hesitated, hand unmoving, almost trembling. She smiled, ridiculing him. He was usually the one to beat her in her challenges, but this time, like a few rare moments, she gained the upper hand. She placed her hand over his—her fingers were well kept, clean and as sweet as everything else about her, and he felt that when she pressed his hand against her face again.

She was still smiling. _Well, then? _Her lips moved but she didn't speak and he much preferred it that way. The season of today was too quiet to disturb with whispers or exaggerated movements, or even his usual antics that he would play about when bored or the like. It was a still morning, it was cold, it was quiet and she dared him to change that.

He complied. What choice did he have? He had already moved that far, so close to her, _touched _her, and she understood. She dared him to move past those little preliminary trials that he had been conjuring in his mind for the past several months. And so he kissed her. On the edges of the hem of her blouse he pressed his lips against her skin, and with her head back she closed her eyes in delight. She felt him grin and she turned before he could ruin what they had been building.

Knees in the depths of the cushion couch she pressed her hand against his shoulder, he had seated himself on the arm of the chair and she pinned him with one rose petal of a hand on the hard detail of his shoulder, and though it should have been awkward, it wasn't when she kissed him back. This time on his lips—she would not have him misjudge her.

Should he touch her? Eve? Lil' Princess? In his mind thinking about her like that shattered the ideology that had formed when he first touched her, and yet…a little link formed in his head. Yeah, he was kissing little princess. The title fit her now more than ever and he leaned slightly into her, parting her lips, driving her closer with an arm wrapped around the dip in her waist and the other palming the agile arc of her hip. She was surprised. He was elated that he won her again, that he was in control.

_Your turn, Princess._

She parted from him. Such cruelty! And it showed in his eyes for she smiled at him, thoroughly amused and swung one leg across his lap. She gained the upper hand again, as in that instant he looked unsure. Hesitant, perhaps thinking: _No, nevermind. _How dare he! She couldn't let him back out already.

It was only once that she read about it, and so she tried it for herself. To slide her tongue into his mouth was easy once he understood and allowed her, but once she was there, what next? For a moment she panicked.

Train's instinct picked up where she left off, and she jumped slightly, making him behave a bit rougher. He stole her move, the bastard! What had she left? She could only respond for a moment, completely swimming. He stole the show completely. She was driving him mad from simply _being, _and his madness was being channeled to her.

She inched closer blindly, scratching at his back for something to hold onto. He groaned from her reaction and she did it again, knowingly stimulating something at the next level. His hand groped lower, she tugged at the collar of her blouse, she shifted again, her skirt was shifting higher up her legs…

Then sunlight came through the window. Eve paused from the warmth that hit her back and Train, suppressing dizziness, looked over her shoulder.

"It's dawn," she mumbled, lips swollen and so appealing to him right now.

"Yeah," he leaned her forehead against hers. "So who won?"

She shook her head, appearing intoxicated. "I don't care anymore," and her following kiss was maddening.


	5. Spirits

The fact that the overhead lantern gave off a weak tawny hue alerted him first and foremost that Sven was being "conservative" again. Their rented room was small and he didn't bother estimate the dimensions since he knew he would be wrong; alcohol whole heartedly disagreed with everything he had to offer: _depth perception_, _rationality_, _hand eye co-ordination_ and the list went on if only he had the _logic_ to process his own thoughts. He was surprised that his language wasn't incoherent. Then again he wouldn't know because he couldn't hear himself, only this thudding boom-boom-boom that vaguely rasped like a human voice that was vaguely familiar.

Or was that him talking?

Hands loomed in front of him and his world spiraled like a kaleidoscope lava lamp, and this shocking sensation of heat on his face mixed with darkness made his whole body feel hot and heavy and more and more sore. Instinct and reaction seemed common sense right now, and he didn't bother to speak as his _awareness_ slowly became _consciousness_.

He felt that he was off the floor, though he might as well be lying face down on it, and he knew that whatever he was lying on was less long than he was tall, his shoes were off, and he wondered where his jacket was. He hated cloaks for obvious reasons, but he still liked the feeling of a jacket now and then.

Still, he didn't need to be any warmer; he just wanted something familiar before he began to panic.

There were more sounds and the hands pressed into his face a bit more trying to shove out the sensation of awkward pain. Then he felt something along his hair line and a rumbling at the back of his throat.

"Don't growl at me," he heard Eve's voice surprisingly clearly, and she sounded rather neutral, almost uncaring from his vantage. He dragged his hands over his face, untimely wondering where Hades was. His holster was missing.

He squinted, "Princess?"

"Good morning, Train."

_Good morning?_ He just stepped out of the side street pub fifteen minutes ago…aw, forget it. Alcohol screwed up his _biological clock_ too.

"He's awake?" a distant voice called.

Train groaned. Too loud, too _loud_.

"Don't shout, Sven."

"He deserves it," Sven's voice was closer now. Train managed to discern steps on wood and rustling of clothes and a scent of smoke that he learnt to love after their first few months of partnership. His older sweeper buddy continued, "Train knows he can't drink. What was he doing at a liquor store?"

"Maybe he was chasing a lead?"

He scoffed out a black cloud, pulling on his jacket a bit closer. "If he hasn't forgotten it in his current state, then just maybe he was useful after all. Train—yo, Train!"

"Shuddup Sven-daddy," Train slurred and a faint smirk tainted his features. He could easily imagine Sven's scowl. All of the sudden he scented cologne too.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"To pay off some of the car debt," he replied. "The reward we got from Skinny DiVito might get us mileage to the neighboring town and some good food. Coming, Eve?"

"I'll stay with Train."

_More like read the most recent scientific discovery in that magazine you bought yesterday_, Train thought. He rotated his head and consumed the idea of feeling dizzy and like Creed beat him up again.

Sven replied, "It's not like he's going anywhere."

"I'll stay," she concluded. And predictably, she opened a book and began to read.

"I'll be back soon then."

"Have a safe trip."

_Good riddance._

The door closed.

It was thereabout that Train began to hallucinate.

He didn't know that he would start experiencing a warped sense of reality without a sense of real time and have it being so vivid. The light by the window was a bit brighter and the idea that it was morning made more sense. The texture of the couch beneath him was course and tasteless and he noticed his jacket was hung on a post directly across from him on the wall. There was a door to the right of his feet and Eve was sitting by the window.

Well, she _was._

His ocular and tactile senses were telling his logical neural pathways that Eve was straddling him. But that couldn't be right.

He blinked.

That _couldn't_ be right.

He groaned as his headache heightened and capsized and rolled back and he felt weight on him and he was pinned down at his torso by Eve. That could not be _right_.

She leaned forward a bit like she was studying him, her short hair grazing the round of her cheeks and the full scale of her body mathematically correct and visually stimulating and almost arousing if he got over the fact that this was just plain weird. They weren't really doing anything (or rather she wasn't doing anything kinky to him as of the moment), but Eve didn't go on the offensive unless their target proved too dangerous.

Was he now the…?

He was distracted when she whispered, "Are you a virgin, Train?"

That practically stunned him awake. He jolted but she stayed on him (now in his lap because he sat up suddenly) and he immediately regretted the decision when his headache made a u-turn and like a battleship on patrol fired at the inside of his skull.

He smiled awkwardly. "Princess, you're cute but…I mean…I'm like thirteen years older than you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you have the advantage?"

Advantage over _what?_ The answers that flashed to mind made his stomach and heart churn and his limbs tremble both from the aftershock of Eve and the weaning effects of the spirits. What, did Eve finally read a romance novel and wanted to prove a theory?

"Are you?" she persisted.

He squinted at her, wondering why she looked blurry all of the sudden. "What?"

"Are you a virgin?"

"Princess…"

"Answer me."

"Uh…"

"It's a yes or no question."

"This is awkward…"

"Why won't you answer me?"

He positioned fingers on his forehead hopping that the perpetual buzzing would subside. He could hear as well as feel this gnawing sensation which was disgruntling to say the least. Was that an after effect of the hangover?

He breathed deeply, looking at a meaningless mark on the wall and one elbow stationed on the back of the couch. Eve watched his transformation turn from shocked to rational. The pounding in his head made him feel otherwise, but he was satisfied with how even and calm his tone came out, "What's this about, Princess?"

"I'd like to go into a serious relationship but I'd like a firsthand opinion on sex."

He blinked at her. "You're kidding, right?"

"No."

"Eve, you're…sixteen!"

"You seem very interested in our difference in ages recently."

"Who's the unlucky kid anyway?"

She glowered at him and he froze, feeling the thudding a bit sharper. She turned away quickly. "That doesn't matter."

"Anyone I know?"

"Will you help me or not?"

He smirked, "It's a yes or no question."

Her cheeks puffed out a bit, though he couldn't tell if she adopted the trait from Rinslet or developed it on her own. It suited her, though she hated when people sent her an adorable look as though she were a porcelain doll. He grinned.

"No," she replied at last.

He rubbed his hand in his forehead, a terrible revelation dawning on him, one that he could not (and dared not) put into words.

"A relationship isn't about sex, Eve, it's about love."

"You sound like the magazines."

He barked, "You want an explanation or not?"

"You're a virgin after all."

"I am not a…!" he held his tongue and stared at her. His shout was emphasized by his jolting forward again, and the headache that spiked made him pause directly before her. She stared at him resolutely, still straddling him, now her chin was tucked under a bit and she was staring from beneath her lashes. When he blinked at her almost agape her eyes shifted to the left.

"Oh," she said simply. "Was it Saya?"

He sobered up at the thought of her, kimono, grinning, teasing him. He smirked. "I wish."

A heartbeat of silence.

"I was thirteen and I don't remember her face. There were a lot of faces that night, they were all pretty, and I can't remember any of them."

"Oh."

He asked eventually, "Why did you ask _me?"_

"Sven would over react, Kyoko would be too expressive, Rinslet would freak, and I can't predict what Tearju might have done…"

"So you asked _me?"_

"When you're drunk you're honest."

He froze.

He kept his spontaneous imaginings at bay but once Eve leaned back and peeled the soft cotton of her shirt over the curve of her shoulders and mussing up her hair there was little else for Train to imagine. She wasn't even flushing and he wondered if he looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Eve was cute, but she was just a…

She kissed him. She just arched her back and leaned forward and dove right in front of him like an acrobat with a perfect landing and let their lips touch. Something in the back of his head was going haywire and his fingers twitched subconsciously. He attempted to snap them both out of an arousing reverie, "Eve."

"Yes, Train?"

"This is going too far."

She crept a little closer, ensuring that each thigh pressed into his waist and made him aware of her hands sliding around his belt beneath his shirt. He was cornered among the arm of the couch behind him, Eve effectively caging him and his own inability of distinguishing space from distance and vice versa. Cunning girl cornered him.

He cursed.

Her fingers were almost nonexistent as they raked through his hair and down his jaw and neck and tucked at the collar of his shirt and physically begged him to give in for a little while. He tried to bend one knee and she if he could vault her off him. He just forced her a bit closer.

His headache was going ballistic (as was everything else in his mind) and he wondered if he could hear her breathing or if that was his imagination now that she was so close he couldn't see her, only feel warm soft feminine flesh passing the boundaries of fabric.

"I thought you were into Sven," he mumbled into her neck. _What am I doing?_ He wondered at fingers that looked oddly like his running through the strands of her short hair and examining the strap of her lingerie.

Her finger nail scratched the back of his neck and he jolted. He could take bullets with no more than a flinch and half a minute of heavy breathing to suppress rising shock. A finger nail in his flesh was primal and unexpected of her—he couldn't help his reaction in clenching on her shoulder.

"Don't talk about him." She demanded.

Oh, did they get into a fight?

He _was_ hearing her breathing. It was haggard and she was moving and he felt nauseous and exhilarated and drugged on his own hormones. He cursed again.

Her tongue behind his ear and a hot breath…arms draped across his shoulders thin and stunning smooth skin…legs coiling around him and his arms not only _letting_ it happen but guiding her…and somewhere along the line his belt hit the floor with a resounding clang…and his hypersensitive senses reacted when she dragged her tongue across his skin…where's she learn to do _that? _And then he parted his lips a bit against hers and she replied and…Train jolted for the last time, panicking from his own heartbeat and suddenly finding himself on the floor.

His vision cleared and he identified two polished shoes that reflected his near humorous expression. He craned his neck upwards; curiosity overriding the want to lie down from the pain that spiraled up his back.

"Train," Sven's voice was as blurry as his face. "What are you doing?"

He was dressed in his suit and smoking and looking annoyed with his partner sprawled on the floor. Eve was by the window. She glanced up once but returned to her book.

"Sven…"

"That's what happens when you drink, Train. I can't believe you'd be so reckless with your own body."

He grunted, looked down. His head was thudding like a new sore.

"I'm going to pay off the car debt. That reward we got on Skinny DeVito might get us some good mileage into the neighboring town and good food. Coming Eve?"

"I'll stay with Train."

Dread rose in him like a poised panther.

"It's not like he's going anywhere."

He cursed and cursed and cursed…

"I'll stay," she replied, her voice still neutral, betraying nothing.

"Alright. I'll be back soon."

"Have a safe trip."

Train looked over his shoulder at Eve as the door closed. He heard the steps leaving on the wooden corridor outside, a breath of air as he smoked, a bit of muttering that disappeared eventually.

That was when she looked up.

"Now then Train: where were we?"

_**Author's Note**_: _I felt this chapter to be more length than content but it's up to the readers to say "ye" or "neigh". Assuming that there might be readers who've read previous chapters, I have this to say: "Gee, you stayed around that long?" Regardless if you've heard of me or no, I'll take reviews, any reviews, even if you want to say you'd prefer more action or thought they weren't in character or think that it was weak in comparison to other chapters or have their own alternate endings or views on certain parts of this chapter. Should you choose to take a little time out to respond to what I've written, I would be greatly obligated and greatly appreciate it. _

_Of course, the fact that I might love you for it means nothing to you at all, does it?_

_In that case, review otherwise I'll track you down, lock you up in a dark basement in Columbia and strap you to an electrical chair for three days and let your imagination run wild while there's a blackout. Would you like to see whether or not that's an empty threat? :)_


	6. Distance

_Author's Comment_: Somewhat loosely based on the movie "13 to 30" and off of the anime rather than the manga (which I usually consult) I was flash inspired to write this.

Though I worry that the characters might be a bit out, they _will_ be because there's next to no romance in Black Cat besides hinting at a Janus-Rinslet relationship and a one-sided Train and Creed (and in the anime Sven and Eve) and so sometimes these characters need depth. They have backgrounds and personalities: but who would be surprised that the main protagonist is a loud mouth who's a comic at one moment and then dead serious the next?

Regardless, I appreciate reviews and if you so desire I'm willing for conversation regarding the concept I proposed.

Something of a warning: It's an alternate reality, not an alternate universe. You'll catch up.

Sunlight was mild through the peaked skylight and had blanched the mat that stayed directly beneath it for the past six months. The entire left wall he noticed (as he shouldered through the door) was lined with bookshelves, simple easy-to-come-by-wood painted black and unable to collect dust due to periodic usage. Books and magazines and collector's tomes were categorized even where they were placed on top of others where there was no room, and still there were plastic juice crates around packed or placed as makeshift shelves.

It was a one room apartment, a kitchen tucked into a corner to the left, adjacent to the door he just stepped through, and a door leading to what he assumed was the bathroom beneath a platform were a mattress and unmade sheets (and surprisingly more books and a coffee mug) were. That's were Eve leapt from, and she abandoned the steps that led up to her "tree house bedroom" putting those moves she learnt all those years ago to good use—and she stuck the landing with excellent poise and her hair fluttering around her.

He didn't understand why she cut it.

Nonchalant ruby eyes paying more attention to one of the three narrow windows overlooking the city than regarding her guest, her shirt long cotton and ironed and fitting her comfortably with a stylish cut around her neck that accented femininity, and pants that loosely fit the swell and ebb of her hips and thighs. She was barefoot, she was awkward, and he could hear her grinding those gears in her head weighing an emotional response as opposed to a rational one.

"Hi, Train," she said at last. She looked at him, though he failed to see how she would regard him: as a stranger? An unwelcome blast from her past? A long lost friend? She blandly looked at him and he suddenly felt uncomfortable.

He smiled thinly, shrugged his shoulders that hefted his black jacket. He didn't have trouble facing her squarely, "Hi, Princess."

They opened a bit (her eyes, he means, and he finds himself gravitated to the real thing more than the profile he found of her in the newspaper one day) and her hands seem to be worthless extensions of herself falling in subtle arcs around a fine waist. "Princess…" she repeated. "I haven't been called that in a long time."

It's _been_ a long time, though he doesn't need to tell her that. She's probably been subconsciously counting the days. She was a mathematician. She was numbered like that.

Train closed the door and forgot that its winter outside despite how stark the branches are, how white the roofs of the residents surrounding her place seem to be. He steps lithely, and that unnerves her, almost as much as the fact that he hasn't stopped staring at her since he found her apartment. She turned to the kitchen conjuring another neutral thought in her mind.

"How's Sven?" he asked before she could ask him if he would mind soy milk. She hated the stuff but…

"Good," she replied. "Do you drink anything besides milk?"

For a second he's lost in his thoughts that are more indistinguishable feelings more than words. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, and his eyes were on her. She shifted her weight on one leg and waited for her to respond.

"Sorry," he couldn't help but grin. She mutters something that might have been 'it figures' or 'I should have guessed' or 'no problem' but it's more his imaginings. She didn't say anything. He's just processing the idea of her lips moving.

"Warm?"

"Thanks."

"Sugar?"

"Nah," he shook his head. Why add anything to milk? Milk was great as it…

"How did you find me?"

Straight to the tough questions, eh Eve? Strong, blunt, courageous, knowing, smart-ass, attractive Eve. He grins. "A little birdie."

Her back was turned to him but he could easily imagine that her brows are furrowed, two delicate yellow lines on the gentle slope of her forehead, and her lips pursed a bit as she fussed over the possible links that would have connected anything she would have done within the past five years to have gotten the Black Cat at her doorstep now. She hated strays.

"I thought cats ate birds," she answered cryptically. "Not spoke with them."

"Don't worry, Princess," his voice was closer than it should have been and she turned. _Slam!_ Barred by his two arms and forced to lean back on the obsidian counter, she was alarmed to find prayers of every religion in every language she's ever read racing through her mind. She gasped a bit at the speed and agility that suddenly found her trapped between a human wall and a solid one and her hand flew to her mouth to contain it.

He's right in front of her—goddamn straight in front of her—and it's harder to believe he doesn't exist when his hair tickles her forehead a bit (he wasn't that much taller than her) and his molten yellow eyes are rocky and steady. He seemed to be holding his breath.

"You've been avoiding me?"

"You still have links with Chronons."

"You've been avoiding me."

"And the incident with the Eden project…"

"You've been avoiding me."

"It would have been best to avoid something like that from happening again."

Eve doesn't fluster of waver or panic or do little things with her fingers to show that she's afraid or uncomfortable. He didn't know her for the past six years but the lil' princess he knew was staring at him resolutely between challenging him and telling him she's pissed so 'go practice your aim' or something.

"You've been avoiding me," he repeated for the final time and softly and his eyes half close. He didn't know what he was hoping to accomplish—hell, he couldn't remember the past three days that included how he knew she was here and how he got himself here—and he heard his voice, "Why?"

He nearly cursed at how desperate he sounded. Even Eve was alarmed at his childish pleading tone, and he felt like a child in front of his mother. The feeling was ambiguous given that he was an orphan but nevertheless, he felt put in his place.

His vision and mind blacked out for a timeless instant, but between then and now Eve had moved: her forehead was cradled into his neck and the start of his shoulder, arms wrapped around him under his jacket, more holding him up that him bridging her and the soft pressure of her breasts made him all the more aware of her identity. He really truly did miss her.

_Alas…_

He glanced down, his hair draped over hers slightly and his lips grazed over her ear. She shuddered. "You're such a kid, Train."

"Kid's can't do this."

He was still in his prime and his hands were fast. They raced up the inside of her jersey in once fluid movement and attacked her lingerie—she gasped and squirmed a bit—and he kept her mouth preoccupied with his own (all too easy when he was this close) his fingers were a bit cold but shameless on her flesh, and she was writhing a bit more now, though be it against or with him he was struggling to fathom. A hand pressed firmly against his shoulder would be a signal for him to stop. Throw that idea out the window: her hands were on his! Moving harsher than he was even!

He was impressed how athletic she was when she coiled two legs around him by provided a temporary pivot on the edge of the counter and the closeness, the vantage, the dance and battle for dominance and erratic untrained perhaps even barbaric movement left them blind.

She didn't know when her back hit the bed.

She didn't know how they got up there.

She didn't care.


	7. Bad Holiday

Bad Holiday

Espionage; public lies and secret justice were the ultimate button pushers. Whose finger was at the trigger of the Winchester and the face of the man behind it? A debonair of a man! Chiseled features never betrayed how unsound of mind he must have been, and his sharp details eyes only slightly curtained by dark maroon hair—his eyes were deadly sharp.

Dear Goddess of Justice where were you when tactics had been simultaneously labeled mad, suicidal and detrimental to a society that knew nothing? Of innocents and morals of power; how could something so unromantic arouse her? Confiding in the black and white was her reprieve and reverie. The bright of the lagoon was nothing to her. It did everything to her physical form regardless.

In succinct terms, she was arousing. She was his fetish. He looked madly over his shoulder at the cove. They were very much alone and he could taste a neutral wash over his tongue…_damn it_ he was salivating. His head and hair wildly whipped this way and that as he took the salty aroma of beach life and felt sunlight pouring into his pelt and back. The surf left him and sand dusted his feet. An even gait obscured thunderous blood and a mind of static.

Her toes curled on the edge of the lounge chair, deep breathing labored, hitched unknowingly, rosy lips parted as her eyes raced to the climax.

The book was torn from her grasp—

_No!_

-and he invaded her mouth with his own. He didn't give her a chance to settle down, she was already emotionally wild and subconsciously her body leaped at the opportunity to expel accumulated lust.

Stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-_Christ_-go-go-go! Logic was reprogrammed when his fingers slipped too low and fondled too harshly. She screamed and lurched and the plastic chair under her cracked when she threw her body down. Hot unexpected spasms raced up and down her nervous system leaving her legs numb and her head a nest of erratic hornets.

Unprepared Black Cat nearly leaped back in alarm but mischievous idle Cupid kicked him forward. The tip of his tongue grasped the bottom of her gasping mouth. She huffed, too hoarse from her previous shriek to moan, but somehow her fingers raked through his hair and she moved her legs—carefully not interrupting his processes between them—to return the burst of pleasure.

He vaulted his voice down her throat, golden eyes flinging open and a muffled princess scarcely audible to either of them. Primal instinct initiated his physical reaction before he could begin to fathom how the hell her toes were so _nimble_.

He was distracted between her caressing flexibility, warm flesh and their animal sounds that he didn't know how his free hand, now trembling, managed to keep him suspended above her.

He heard a crack that he associated with his sense of rationality and patience.

Eve likewise attacked him. She was then straddling him—their lips disconnected for the exchange—and he savored the view in the rowdiness of her half voice and the redness of her lips and her movements as she rocked against him slowly and purposefully, a gentle contrast to their previous hastiness.

He growled and purred and clawed at the seat, only slightly annoyed that he was still trembling. His stamina could take another few minutes (more than a few minutes) but his heart threatened to burst from over exertion. Feeling her through skin tight water suits was brilliant cruelty.

And she paused, leaned her hips back whilst arching her back so that her bust protruded closer to his nose, and grinded…forward…at a torturously slow rate…sensitivity against sensitivity. They both cried out.

The chair crashed into the sand under the strain of their humping.

Discarded articles of clothing seemed oblivious to that much.


	8. A Question of Intimacy

Her voice made him look up and he was hesitant to do so. He was a little sleepy: it reflected in his weak grin, but he wasn't berated by her tone however chastising it might have been. Hovering over her static form, he hummed low a voice of contentment and question. He blinked lethargically and felt her fingers graze over his lashes.

"Train," she murmured, "would you?"

His expression grew less content but strangely not less warm. His smile vanished entirely, his eyes solemn and contemplative and Train's ears were focused on the sound of the waves outside of their home. She was enticing, but he had another lover. One less human; and it made him guiltier. The alluring pattern of his work was not new to her, but Eve was asking a lot of him. Eve was asking him to discard a piece of his bravado, a piece of his identity.

He wondered if she knew that or if she struggled to know that. He read her face, as contemplative as his, and eyes that had seen wonders and horrors alike. He couldn't tell what ran through her mind (if there was anything running there at all.) Her head could have very well been blank with postponed thoughts hindered as she patiently awaited his reply. Her eyes were open literally and open figuratively into her soul were far more open than when they'd first encountered all that time ago.

Or at least, if they were as open then as they were now, she had felt less. She was soulless.

Not now though. She knew what humanity was and what it meant.

But his thoughts were turning from Eve living and breathing before him to the very alive line of his work. His heart ached at the thought of reigning himself in. At the thought of reigning himself in for her the pain was muted to dull throbbing, but he couldn't ignore how much he'd miss it.

He chickened out. Train went childish. "Princess," he whined (like a child!) and cowered into her neck where his voice was muffled by her hair and the cushion she rested on. He was hoping that a carefully placed bite somewhere on her skin would make her squirm and smile and forget how serious her question was, but she did nothing like he would have liked her to.

She tensed, but to his dread, she had steeled herself against his attack. He sighed, not moving away from her physically to break the intimacy. Even with his two arms caging her into the couch, she was dominating everything. He wanted to play, she wanted to talk. She wanted him to choose, he wanted to forget.

Want, want, want, want, want.

May Sven watch over them both during the following conversation.

He heard the material of her summer dress move before he felt her arms lightly hold his forearms. "Train," she purred, "are you afraid of something?"

"Afraid?" the radical thought had him jolt up before he registered her question. He just caught the feeling of regret and morose in her tone and then he saw it in her eyes. His hands slid down her body to her abdomen. Carefully he kissed her. "I'm not afraid of anything." The unspoken passion between them made him wonder if he imagined the heat under his fingers. Was it her or something underneath her?

"But you're hesitant."

His Cheshire grin was characteristic. "Ah, you noticed?"

Her free left hand traced his hairline and brushed some haphazard bangs out of the way. She raked them back and left herself feeling bare before the animalistic nature of his amber eyes. She wondered if he purposefully shielded them with his hazardous hairdo. He knew his glare resurfaced primal flight instinct in most grown men much less skittish people or little girls, but she suddenly felt stripped when his hair wasn't there to filter the full effect of his gaze. It was far different from being naked (while she was being honest she found no shame in admitting she would walk naked in front of him and wouldn't blink) dare she say there was something spiritual in how he peered at her?

Like taking a long, long swig of cool milk, rippling and soothing the throat and washing away the day's troubles it seemed a very appropriate analogy, albeit somewhat disjoint and random.

"I hope she gets your eyes," she whispered. "It's said girls like to take after their fathers."

His grin fell between romantic and patient, a look she'd come to label as familial. "Oh?" he nuzzled her. "And boys take after their mothers?"

"Supposedly," she agreed.

He couldn't care less if their kid was a girl or boy. He'd care about the kid and he'd have to be careful of everything surrounding the kid, everything that he thought of instantly but didn't list. He didn't freak out when Eve told him the news. A part of him had been wondering if this time she'd say it. Still despite his anticipation, he was still stunned. He wondered why, he wasn't apprehensive about being a dad—for that Eve wasn't surprised but appreciative—but for some reason future fathers seemed to be a little…shocked at having little people invade their home and their time…and their wallets…

Financially Train wasn't worried about a thing. He wasn't worried about anything, really, and if he was he'd figure out why when the time would come. He wasn't afraid, he knew that much. A little intimidated, but Eve was always intimidating. Now, if he was lucky/unlucky, he'd have two intimidating people loose in his house.

Tired of bracing against the cushions beneath her Train settled to lie down around her lounging frame on the couch. She shuffled accordingly and soon he was Eve's cushion.

"You can't keep…killing people, Train," she whispered. Her fingers looped into his belt where his gun usually was. He left Hades in its holster far away from her. She didn't hate the sight of it, but the memories at the sight of it, the implications at the sight of it…

"I took my last job half a year ago," he mumbled. "It's still fresh in my mind."

"I know."

She did. Compared to Eve, Train started the business late. She was bred to kill, bred to hunt down targets and dispose of them for the government as a pretty, mindless mercenary. He was a bit more efficient, had the clean shots, had innate talent and honed skill, but he was made human by an unlikely circle of souls. By association so was she. The first time he saw her he just thought 'cute' and turned back to his drink.

Now he was brought back to reality with his not-legally-his-wife hooking one index finger into his belt and his knuckles just shy of where their kid would be staying for another few months.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered at the blanched bare beach house that had once belonged to her guardian.

Eve shrugged. "Nothing that different from what you're thinking, I suppose," she murmured. "I think I'm a little scared."

She felt his breath hitch. "About what?"

"Our child." She replied.

He still hadn't breathed yet.

"I'm a little scared we won't…raise him or her right. We didn't really grow up right ourselves, Train."

"We aren't the same people we used to be," he replied and exhaled tentatively. He was stroking the space between her shoulder blades while her forehead rested on his clavicle. "If how I'm holding you isn't a reflection of that much, I don't know how else to convince you, Eve."

She shifted a bit closer to him and they both heard water crash against the surf. Salt fumigated their home. Outside the skies were a gloomy grey of approaching storm, but they'd shuffle around to lock the windows later. Right now Train had to fight off sleep as he listened to her: "Train?"

"Hmmmm….?"

"You know, after all the time we've spent together, we've never told each other that we love each other."

He jolted and looked at her. In a voice that was a bit too loud, "You don't?"

"Of course I do," she was angry at his sudden movement and glared. "Would I be baring your child if I had my doubts?"

He blinked at her and then relaxed. To her question he replied, "I don't see why we have to. You're smart enough to tell that I won't leave you in my lovesick state"—here she smiled warmly and widely—"and I can't see who else you'd fall in love with without thinking about me and then running back."

He winked at her.

"I can think of someone." Her tone lost the playful banter.

He stilled. "Oh?"

"Sven," she murmured.

He was quiet for a long time.

Then at last, "You have a fetish for old men?"

She slapped him.


End file.
